In the Stillness(88)

I’m not allowed to say another word before I grab my bag and head back out of the Soldiers’ Home and text Ryker.

Me: Happy Thanksgiving

Ry: You too

Me: Are you at your dad’s?

Ry: No, just got back home. Why?

Me: Can I come over?

Worst 45-second silence.

Ry: Sure. Remember where it is?

I text back that I do, leaving out the part that I had his address in my brain long before he drove my sorry, drunk butt to his house.

A half hour later, I’m knocking on Ryker’s door. When he answers, I fight the urge to throw my arms around his neck and kiss him. That’s my knee-jerk reaction to seeing Ryker Manning. Every time. He’s clearly still in his Thanksgiving clothes—dark khakis and a maroon button-down shirt, no tie.

“Happy Thanksgiving, can I come in?”

“Of course.” He steps aside, letting me in. His features seem a little cold.

“I’m sorry I haven’t really called or anything,” I start, “I’ve been—”

“No, it’s okay,” he cuts in, “I’ve been busy, too.”

I notice two suitcases by his couch. “Going somewhere?”

“Jackson Hole. Want something to drink?” Ryker walks to the kitchen.

“Uh, sure.” Something’s off in his tone. “How long will you be gone?”

Ryker shrugs. “Close to three months, I think.”

“What?” Heat instantly hits my cheeks.

“I do it every winter, Nat.” He hands me a glass of water. “I help out at the camp I used to work at, spend time with my mom, you know . . .”

Actually, I don’t know. Though, I suppose that I would have had I taken some time to spend with Ryker over the last several months. Instead, I’m left feeling panicked that he’ll be gone for three months. He was gone for a decade, and suddenly three months seems impossible, even if we haven’t been spending time together.

That’s because it’s not over.

“You okay?” Ryker stares at me from the other side of his kitchen island.

“Uh . . . yeah. I just . . . when are you leaving?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Oh,” I whisper as tears sting my eyes and nose.

“What?” He looks away unapologetically, and I know now that he wasn’t planning on telling me.

Clearing my throat, I ask, “Were you, um, going to call me, or something?”

“Natalie,” he sighs, running his fingers through his hair as if I’ve been pestering him somehow.

Feeling a wave of tears coming on, I set my glass down. “Just . . . call me when you’re back, okay?” Turning on my heels, I make as quick of a break for the door as I can without it looking like running.

“Natalie, wait!” Ryker meets me at the door, spinning me around by the shoulders. He can easily see the tears overflowing, causing his face to melt from indifference to concern. “Why are you crying?” He shakes his head and pulls his brows in.

“Nothing, I’m sorry . . . I shouldn’t have just shown up.” Wiping my nose with the sleeve of my coat, I continue, “Have a good time . . .”

Ryker’s thumbs rub against my shoulders as he stares at me without saying a word for a few seconds.

“I know,” he says as if I’ve stated something, “I haven’t called you, either.” My chin quivers as he continues, “I’ve wanted to spend more time with you, Natalie, I really have, but . . . some days it just feels like so much, you know?”

“I do.”

“Man. You were so great when I was at your place a few months ago, and you seem to be doing really well and . . . I didn’t want to screw anything up for you.” Ryker releases my shoulders and backs up, sitting on the arm of the couch.

“Are we really here again?” I take a step forward. “Are we really here, acting based on how we think the other person feels?”

I watch him swallow before he looks up.

“Ryker,” I start again, grabbing his hand, “I never asked you about Lucas because I knew you didn’t want to talk about it. You didn’t call me for ten years because you knew I hated you, and I didn’t call you because I knew I’d ruined your life.” I nudge him over with my hips and sit next to him. “We didn’t know shit.”

His laugh is as uncomfortable as mine.

“I just need a little space, Nat.”

Defensively, I stand. “From what? We haven’t seen each other in like four months.”

“No . . . no, that’s not it.” Ryker follows me as I pace to the front door.

“Then what is it?”

I realize a second after I ask that this may have nothing to do with me at all. He does go there every year, after all. Sometimes, the things people don’t say speak louder than the things they do, though. Ryker’s at a loss. All I can see in his eyes is a struggle as he grasps for something to say.

I put him out of his stumbling misery. “Just . . . promise me you’ll call me when you get home.”

A defeated sigh comes from his perfect lips. He brushes a strand of hair away from my face, looking me right in the eyes. “I promise.”

My drive home is filled with tears of uncertainty, until Marion’s words filter their way through my brain.